Problems
by Willowsticks
Summary: Richard and Camille are in a relationship but have hit a rocky patch...
1. Chapter 1

**Apologies, it's not the usual happy fluff that I produce, (well not to start with). I promise that my other stories are happier and that I won't leave you hanging too long for chapters (there aren't many of them!) Again, you might have to suspend your disbelief a little when reading this – not sure where this story came from – theoretically its possible so doesn't have to be set in an AU, although it probably doesn't follow with the majority of people's thinking.**

His timing had never been very good. He always seemed to get it wrong, arriving either too early or too late. But today he was spot on, the only difference was that he had no business hearing the conversation he had stumbled on or rather he had but would rather he hadn't.

"How late are you?"

"Two weeks."

"And you're definitely pregnant?" Camille nodded. "Have you told Richard?"

"Not yet."

He had tried to extricate himself as quietly as possible from their conversation but had ended up walking into a chair. His mind had been too preoccupied to concern itself with where he was putting his feet. The noise it made scraping across the floor was the loudest he thought he had ever heard. His panicked eyes met the equally startled ones of Camille and her mother.

"um, sorry, I should...I mean, I have to...um sorry." He left before either of them had a chance to formulate a sentence let alone find a way to get him to stay. He thought he could hear Camille follow him.

She was behind him. "Richard!" He sped on, seeking the sanctity of the station. She wouldn't dare try and broach the subject there. It had always been off limits with regards to their relationship. He was almost there before it occurred to him that at that moment he didn't want to be surrounded by the easy camaraderie of Dwayne and Fidel. He wanted to be alone. But it was too late to change direction, Camille would surely catch up with him if he did that. He couldn't think properly, the same sentence ran through his mind _how could she? How could she? _He was on the steps, his feet somehow managing to accomplish them despite him having no control over them anymore.

"Dwayne?" He practically bellowed the name without realising.

Yes Chief!"

"Do we have the results back from the lab on the Wilcox case yet?"

"Yes chief, it's what we..."Camille cut him off.

"We need to talk."

"Not now."

"Yes now!" The two junior officers exchanged glances, saw the ferocity in Camille's eyes and promptly decided that there were better places for them to be at that particular moment in time. They mumbled something about patrol and practically ran out of the door.

"Richard, what you heard..." he had walked away from her, pacing the office like a trapped animal. "I thought you'd be happy?"

He stopped the pacing and looked at her. For all his confusion he suddenly felt very angry. "Oh I'm sorry where are my manners? Congratulations I'm very happy for you."

She couldn't understand his sarcasm. "For us. It's what you've always wanted."

"Yes I wanted us to have a child. Us."

"I don't understand."

"You're pregnant."

"Yes."

"I think that speaks for itself don't you?"

"Richard, why is it so hard for you to understand that it's yours."

"Because it can't be." He was adamant.

"Why not?"

"You know why."

"That just means it's improbable."

"8% isn't improbable Camille. It's nigh on impossible especially given the time frame of our relationship." He was rambling now and running his hands through his hair so viciously that he was in danger of pulling it out. "I should have seen this coming. It's what every woman wants for Christ's sake!" He rounded on her. "You said it was fine. You said I was fine, that you didn't need anything else. I would have understood that you didn't want me anymore, God knows I've been through it enough, but this? I don't understand why you felt the need to go behind my back. What did you think would happen? That I'd roll over and tell you I'd be happy looking after another man's child because I couldn't have one of my own? Or perhaps you thought I wouldn't notice. That I would pat myself on the back and say, '_Oh Camille's pregnant, oh well done Poole, you must be virile after all.'"_

"You really think it's not yours."

"I think that's blatantly obvious, don't you? I only hope you at least chose someone who was white to complete the deception, there's nothing worse than the colour being off when a father sees his offspring for the first time."

The slap wasn't wholly unexpected, but it still hurt when her hand connected with his face. She hadn't been lying when she said that she could probably beat him in a fist fight. It took the wind out of him enough to make him draw breath a little before he could attack her with another verbal assault.

She didn't give him the chance. "You don't deserve to be a father." Her voice was cold with anger as she stood in front of him, her eyes brimming with tears, her face frozen with shock, before she turned on her heel and hurried from the room leaving him on his own.

_

Richard couldn't stay in the office, the heat was too oppressive, the walls felt like they were closing in on him. Worst of all he couldn't bear the idea of spending time under the puzzled gaze of his colleagues. He had to leave.

Leave. What did that mean? Surely if he wanted to go home he would have thought those exact words but leave? Leaving sounded infinitely more permanent. Leave his job? Leave the island? Could he stay now? Now that he had nothing again? What would the point be? To torture himself perhaps by watching Camille through this pregnancy and see her bring up a child that didn't belong to him. To think on all the things he could have had, was so close to having. No. It was impossible. He had to leave. He gathered his briefcase and walked past the two desks by the door. It was pointless to say goodbye now, he would have to come back for the paperwork, the endless meetings with the commissioner. He would be here for a little while longer, would have to be. But after that he would be free again, back to the anonymity that he had left behind. The loneliness. He almost welcomed it if it meant the pain would stop.

"Are you coming back sir?" It was Fidel who had voiced the question.

"No. I um, I'm not feeling well."

"Yes sir."


	2. Chapter 2

**So these are relatively short chapters, which is why I'm publishing them in relatively quick succession. Thank you for reviewing – a couple of guest reviews don't seem to be on this page but rest assured that they are still delivered to my email so I do see them!**

He had spent the rest of the day with a bottle at his house. He wondered if he would miss it when he looked back on his time on the island. They way that Camille had taught him to love the cool evenings, the fragrant air and the noise of the cicadas, the gentle waves lapping against the shore, even the tree growing through the middle of it all, because he had been able to share them with her. The bed he had made love to her in, held her in, watched her sleep in. The veranda he had kissed her on when he was showing her the different constellations. They were all hers. The view was now ugly and the bed was now empty, tainted by her association. Home. He had once called this home, but wasn't sure it could still classify as such given that he no longer had the semblance of a family to put in it. Family. Those two words hung tantalisingly out of reach, never to be his.

The bottle had several tumblers worth already missing from the top, but had so far done nothing to deaden the dull ache in his chest. He knew he would have trouble standing when he eventually did so in order to crawl to his bed. He had every intention of passing out on top of the covers, the idea of sleeping in it without her, even for one night was unbearable. His cheeks were beginning to streak with tears and in his embarrassment his head fell to the desk, supported by his hands that were still cradling the tumbler. There was no one now to look but he still couldn't bear the thought of being seen. In time they dried, but his head remained lowered, the condemned man, resigned to his fate.

He finally heard footsteps on the veranda but knew that it wasn't her.

It was Catherine.

"Richard." He raised his head. "Can I come in?" He nodded his head towards a chair. She surveyed his red eyes, the bottle on the desk and the empty tumbler that he was still clutching as she took the one closest to him. He expected her pity, was ready to fight it, but there was none. Only kindness masked by the usual businesslike manner she had taken to adopting when she was around him.

"If you won't talk to her then perhaps you can talk to me." He shook his head. "She hasn't told me much other than the fact that you argued?" Richard still sat with almost all of his back turned towards her, he couldn't bear to look at her, but knew that she was referring to his face. He put his hand up to touch his cheek. The handprint had long since disappeared but in its place was an ugly red welt. "I'm not asking to know everything, I don't want to intrude but I do want to help if I can." There was none of the overt emotion that he had been so worried about her showing. No crying or pleading or shouting. She hadn't begged or beseeched him to talk to either her or Camille and he was grateful for it. Civility was the only emotion that he was capable of dealing with at the present time. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head.

"Why, because of the baby?" He nodded again. "I know fatherhood is daunting Richard but you have nine months to get used to it. It's normal for any new father to feel like this.

"I'm sure it would be if I was the father."

"Of course you're the father, why would you say such a terrible thing?"

He deliberated for a moment how much to tell her. He would at one stage have been embarrassed about sharing such personal details from his life but the scotch had loosened his tongue and soon he would be on his way home. Nothing mattered anymore.

"I can't have children Catherine. I told Camille when we first got together. It's not mine."

"You can't have children, or it's difficult for you to have children?"

"Difficult, impossible, they're pretty much the same thing given the odds." Not seeing her face somehow made it easier to tell her. "I have an 8% chance of fatherhood. Low motility and morphology, it basically means that most of them can't be arsed to move anywhere and the ones that do get there don't do anything useful. It'll pretty much take a miracle for me and Camille to have a baby."

"And this is why you think Camille might have been with someone else." He nodded again. "Even though the two of you have been inseparable for months." He shrugged.

"Only in the evenings."

"And from what you know of Camille you think that she might have been seeing someone during the day? During work hours?" She was trying not to sound too harsh, but for an intelligent man he clearly hadn't thought through the possibilities before jumping to his conclusion. "You think Camille would be the type of woman to sleep with a man she barely knows after meeting up with him during her lunch breaks?"

Even to his ears the possibility was beginning to sound slightly ridiculous. But then the alternative was so implausible that it was equally impossible to believe. She broke into his thoughts again.

"Were you using contraception?"

"No. I didn't see the point." He stopped, finally aware that perhaps he was now into overshare territory.

"So it could be a miracle."

"It's highly unlikely."

The doubt was clearly beginning to show on his face because Catherine had moved over to the desk and placed a hand on his.

"Richard, you need to talk to her about how you feel. Don't shut her out, she needs you." He scoffed, he couldn't imagine Camille ever needing him. No one had ever needed him. "She's scared and thinks she's alone. Tell her she's not."

"I can't."

"No matter how implausible Richard it's the right conclusion given the facts."

He scoffed again. "Who told you that?"

"Camille, and she got it from you." She gave his hand a little squeeze, "you'll work it out."


	3. Chapter 3

He couldn't drive. He debated whether he was too drunk to walk and how long it would take him but decided to go anyway, with a little luck the fresh air might sober him up but leave him with a little bit of courage left over. Quite why he had brought the bottle with him then was a mystery. Perhaps it was because it gave him something to do with his hands more than anything else. Every step that took him closer to her became heavier and slower. He should have used the time to think what he was going to say to her, but it was too late for that now as he was at her door. There seemed to be nothing to say, nothing he could possibly say to atone for that afternoon.

His cheek still burned with the embarrassment of the insult he had delivered and the slap she had returned. He knocked remembering just in time to leave the bottle on the doorstep out of sight, he supposed it wouldn't look good. He was nervous and a large part of him was hoping that she wasn't in, or at least if she was then that she was already in bed or asleep and wouldn't come to the door. He waited with baited breath, until the sounds of movement from within the house could be heard.

No such luck then.

The door opened enough for him to catch a glimpse of her. Her face looked swollen and her eyes were red, a pang of guilt shot through him and he suddenly felt very self conscious. He could barely bring himself to look at her.

"Hi."

"Hi."

They stood awkwardly opposite each other for what seemed like an eternity. "What do you want Richard?"

"I don't really know..." He managed to pull himself together a little. "I...I came to say I'm sorry." He at least managed to look her in the eye for the apology. "I mean about before, what I said. It was horrible. I was so rude to you and it was unfair and cruel and you're right, I don't deserve to be a father. I'm sorry." His admission of guilt was met with a wall of silence and as the moments ticked by it was becoming increasingly obvious that she wasn't going to let him in. There was no reason why she should. He was an arse. He'd spent so long trying to prove that he wasn't and he'd failed at the last hurdle. His mouth twisted into a pitiful smile designed to try and show her that there were no hard feelings and he started backing away from the door.

"Is that all you wanted to say?"

"No, I um, thought we could talk, but I don't know if you want to do it another time."

"Why, do you think I'm going to sleep tonight?"

"I don't know. Probably not." She opened the door wider then turned her back on him indicating that he should follow her.

He took up a chair in the kitchen on the opposite side of the table to her. _Confrontational to the last_ _Poole_ he thought sullenly. Even this room was full of memories, seared forever into his consciousness. The intimate kitchen suppers that he preferred to the restaurants she had chosen where he could talk to her unfettered and unburdened by the thought that other people might be listening. The afternoon they had spent baking, never enjoying their creation because she had insisted on eating most of the mixture, resisting his entreaties for her to stop by wiping some on his nose, before he could take her teasing no more and had made love to her on the table. The feeling of being a family. A unit. One. He looked down and saw that his hand was palm down on the wood, seemingly trying to draw those particular memories out from the knots and joins beneath his skin.

Camille's voice brought him back to reality. "You're drunk."

He nodded, "yes."

"Is that what gave you the courage to come over here, the drink?"

"No of course not, I..." he seemed to realise that it was pointless to try and lie to her. "Yes, a little."

"Well at least you're still being honest." He sat staring at the table. "Do you still believe what you said this afternoon?"

"No."

"So you know that this is yours?" She caressed her abdomen with a light touch and for a moment Richard wished he was the type of man who had the confidence to believe her so he could do the same.

"I..."

"You still don't do you? You still think that I cheated on you."

"No I don't, I swear! It's just...hard to accept that this is what's happened.

"So you don't think I've cheated, but you don't think I'm carrying your child? Richard you're not making any sense. I don't understand why you won't talk to me!"

"I'm trying Camille! But you have no idea what this is like." He was still wrestling with trying to keep it inside, locked away, never to be discussed or aired. He took a deep breath. "I've been told for years that it's nigh on impossible for me to have a child. It's why I've been on my own for so long for Christ's sake! Why I pushed you away. How the hell could I have ever asked any woman to accept me like that, let alone you? I don't work properly. The entire existence of the human race is based on procreation and I can't do it. I can't pass on any of my genes to the next generation, and you know what, the longer I live with it the more I think it's probably a good thing, but I can't stop wanting it. I mean look at me. How could I have ever asked a woman to love me and only me?"

"Because _I_ love you for you." Camille could only stare at him incredulously. "And if we had never had a baby then you would have been enough. You would always have been enough."

Richard had his head in his hands.

"No I wouldn't. Sooner or later you would have mentioned a fertility clinic, just to make sure, or IVF. I can't do any more tests Camille. There are only so many times a man can face being told he's infertile. And then you would have pretended that you were happy for about 6 months, all the while crossing your fingers hoping that something could happen, until you saw the last of your friends get married and start a family and then you would have come to the conclusion that I wasn't worth it. Just like everyone else."

Camille couldn't believe that he was finally being completely open with her, she had known only the bare minimum. She pressed gently for more information. "How long have you known?"

"Since university. Some friends and I thought it would be an easy way to get some extra cash donating; only they wouldn't take mine.

"It didn't really matter until later, you don't really think about it, or if you do you assume it won't be a problem anymore, that it'll sort itself out in time for when you need it. It gets to the point when you don't mention it the first time, until it's getting serious and then she thinks it's a good idea to have another test to confirm what you already know. There's no blame, you're both too young to deal with it, you move on.

"But the next one, the next one is hard, because _you know _for sure, and now you have to decide, do you tell her straight away? Do you wait for it to get serious then tell her? And she says it doesn't matter that you're still young, that there's plenty of time, but there isn't, not for her, at least she thinks there isn't. And all the time there are more tests, and you keep having to look her in the eye and tell her that it's never going to happen, watch her pin that ridiculous expression of false hope on her face as she tells you it's ok, that there's still time. And eventually she starts to think, well there's nothing wrong with me, why am I putting myself through all this stress when there's nothing wrong with me? And she comes to the conclusion that life doesn't have to be as hard as she is making it. She could be with a man who can give her children, 5 or 6 of them if she wants, and so you're consigned to the dustbin of history, never to be thought about. Then word gets around and no one will touch you anyway.

"Damaged goods, i think that's what people said. Soon it's easier just to stop trying rather than having the hassle of starting something new knowing it's never going to work." He had spent the entire time talking to the table, unaware that she had moved next to him, was shocked when he felt her touch his hand, a touch he had never expected to feel again after the way he had treated her. He ploughed on.

"And then you came along. I've never loved anyone like I love you and I tried to be honest, I tried to make you understand, and all this time I've just been waiting for you to realise that I'm no good to you. And I'm so sorry about what I said, I know I can't ever take it back."

They sat in silence, Camille still holding his hand. She hadn't realised the depth of his despair, his insecurity or his feeling of failure. She was beginning to understand his earlier outburst.

"You never told me this is how you felt."

"How could I? I just wanted one more chance Camille. One more chance at being with someone I love before it all has to stop and I'm on my own again. I'm sorry, it was selfish."

"Richard, you are the most selfless man I have ever met. The fact that you were honest with me right from the start about this proves that." She was at a loss how to console him. She decided that she wanted to be as honest with him as he had just been with her. "When you told me, before we were together the first time" she gave a small involuntary smile at the memory, "I can't pretend I wasn't upset. Of course I was. But I thought about what I wanted from life and I made the decision that I wanted to be with you because I had fallen in love with you and knew that you loved me too and that was the most wonderful feeling in the world. I knew that I would go through the rest of my life and never find that with anyone else. So I decided that nothing else mattered except you. And if, in the future you decided that you wanted to adopt or foster then I would be happy with that because I would still have you. You have always been enough for me and I'm glad that you took one more chance because without it I would never have found you."

He looked up and saw tears threatening to spill out over her cheeks. His heart finally and completely melted as he pulled her on to his lap, just as her defences gave way and she started sobbing. His arms encircled her, trying to tell her with actions what he couldn't say; that he loved her, would always love her, would always stay, would always look after her.

"Please don't cry Camille," his own tears were in danger of joining hers as he blinked them back. He hugged her face to his neck, feeling the tears flow against his skin and held her tight. In time her breathing became less laboured and she settled against him.

He had been holding her for so long that he hadn't noticed where his hand was resting. She reached for him and pressed her own over his holding it in position against her stomach. He was surprised by the complete normality of the situation. It was an action he had committed many times before but until now he had always associated it with longing more than reality. He stroked his fingers against the material of her shirt. Her abdomen felt the same as it always had, completely flat and toned. There was nothing there that could warrant any of the terror or self loathing that he had felt earlier that day. He smiled in spite of himself. Everything _was_ suddenly very different. Just knowing she was his would have been enough after their revelations, but it didn't have to be anymore.

He had a family.


End file.
